


no-one alive can always be an angel

by orphan_account



Series: Kill Bill AU [2]
Category: Game Grumps, Kill Bill (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Angst, Blood, Death, Gen, Kill Bill AU, M/M, Ninja Ship Party, Revenge, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 07:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11732040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dan was in bliss.So, of course, a certain someone had to show up and throw everything off-kilter.





	1. A Widower

**Author's Note:**

> a prequel/companion piece to my other kill bill au fic, 'don't let me be misunderstood'. gonna be writing this fic to be fairly standalone, but still, highly urge you to check that one out as well!
> 
> like before, i'm also going to be trying to write this in a way that can be totally understood even if you haven't seen the kill bill films. 
> 
> hope y'all enjoy, and comments/constructive criticism is always appreciated!

Adam Anderson was tall, blonde, and classically beautiful. He was punk, immensely smart and passionate, and had a way of speaking that made you feel like you were more special than anything.

Upon their meeting, Dan thought, _I could love this man._

Somehow, Adam had wormed his way into Dan’s heart, and masked every part of _Him_ that was left. Masked, not replaced – for Dan didn’t think he’d ever be rid of _His_ essence completely – but Adam filled up so much of his mind and being that Dan barely had time to spare any thought for his old…associate.

To Adam, Dan was Leigh, Leigh Daniels. They’d met in the terminal at the Princeton Airport. Dan had gotten lost in Adam’s hazel eyes, and had fed him a fake name and fake backstory. Adam had taken to him immediately, and they hadn’t looked back since. Before long, they were due to wed, all set to have a small wedding and snag a little house in Jersey. The date, unbeknownst to Adam, would mark exactly one month from Dan’s secret departure from his bloody, bloody past.

It was bliss.

So, of course, _He_ had to come and throw everything off-kilter.

 

***

 

“My wedding rehearsal?” Dan hissed out of the corner of his mouth. “My fucking wedding rehearsal?”

“I only wanted to see what was going on with you,” said _He_.

It was two days till the Anderson-Daniels union, and the wedding party was currently conducting rehearsal in a tiny cathedral. The party was quite uneven. There were about two-dozen friends and family on Adam’s side, and none on Dan’s. _(“You really have no one to invite, Leigh?” Adam had asked, early on in the planning process. “No one I want,” Dan had replied._ ) Adam had tried to urge Dan to at least let them hold the ceremony in a temple, incorporate some of the traditions from Dan’s Jewish upbringing, just to have something on his side – but Dan had shot the idea down. _“I do have something on my side, babe,” Dan had said honestly. “You.”_

Adam was up at the front of the room with the priest and his guests, holding court and discussing last-minute arrangements. Way back in the pews, Dan watched.

 _He_ watched beside him.

“How did you even get in here?” Dan asked, keeping his eyes front.

“The door wasn’t barred,” He said. “I thought you Jersey people were supposed to be scrappier than that. More cautious.”

“It’s a fucking church, you—” Dan swallowed the insult. Who knew what kind of mood He was in. “It’s a church. Since when do churches lock their doors while they’re in session?”

“You’d be surprised,” He replied. “With the number of massacres that’ve been happening in places just like this…people are always on guard.”

“Well, you’ll forgive me for not thinking I need to be on guard during goddamn wedding prep.”

“Speaking of that.” He turned to look at Dan head on. “You’ve been gone barely a month and you’re practically hitched?”

Dan felt His gaze burning into the side of his face, saw a sliver of it in his peripheral vision.

He steeled his body, forced himself to just focus on Adam, Adam, Adam…

“What?” Dan spat. “You jealous?”

“What gives you that idea?” Dan can hear the smirk in His voice, and it makes him want to throw something.

“I dunno. The fact that you tracked me all the way across the globe and decided to crash my wedding.”

“It’s not like it was hard, you know. You’re tied to Jersey,” He said. “Just like you’re tied to me.”

Dan said nothing.

“You don’t even deny it,” He murmured, way too close to Dan’s ear. “But it’s all right,” He continued, turning and facing front again as Adam briskly walked down the aisle toward them. “I understand.”

“Babe, who’s this?” Adam asked, looking at Him curiously.

Dan’s mind blanked. Lie, lie!

“This—this is—”

“—His cousin,” He finished swiftly. He held out His hand. “Brian Daniels, pleasure to meet you.” He grinned, a stupid, sexy, perfect grin, the only grin in the world that rivaled Adam’s, and Dan knew this well. “I was doing some traveling, and figured I’d make a stop through Jersey so that I didn’t miss the whole thing!” He gestured grandly at the room and the rest of the party.

“Y-yeah,” Dan found his words. “Yeah, I didn’t even think he was gonna be on this side of the globe, yet here he is!” He forced a smile, and Adam seemed to buy it.

“Well, this is wonderful!” Adam beamed and shook His hand enthusiastically. “Brian can give you away!”

“Yes, I definitely could,” He agreed.

But He didn’t.

 

***

 

Not twenty minutes later, Dan lay battered and gasping for breath in a pool of his own blood.

The other wedding party members were dead around him. Dan’s old assassin squadmates had seen to that. It’d all happened impossibly fast – one moment, Adam and the priest were helping everyone get into position for a proper runthrough, the next, the members of the Graceland Revolutionary Marksman Point Squad (better known as the GRuMPS) were busting through the front doors and gunning down nearly everyone in sight before anyone could properly scream. Dan hadn’t had any time to hurt or mourn, he’d immediately gone into defense mode, scrambling to get back into the old warrior mindset to fight – but they’d all overpowered him, beating him and flaying him within an inch of his life.

When he lay, shivering, still in white hot pain and barely clinging to consciousness, was when He decided to approach him, kneel down next to him, and press the barrel of a Desert Eagle to Dan’s temple.

His big blue eyes were cold, but there was a flicker of hurt deep within them as He gazed down at Dan.

“Daniel,” He said softly. “My Songbird. I did this – I’m doing this – because you left us.”

“Brian,” Dan wheezed, finally speaking His name, his old handler’s name. “Brian, y-you said you understoo—”

BANG.

Blackness.

 

***

 

When Dan woke, he was in a hospital bed, and everything ached and itched something terrible.

He sat up slowly, groaning at the soreness of his muscles. He lifted his hands up to try to massage some feeling into them, when he noticed –

His ring finger was bare.

Suddenly, everything flooded back to him, the lost wedding, the massacre, his dead fiancé and in-laws and all the rest—and the GRuMPS, and Brian, fucking Brian, who fucking destroyed _everything_ —and Dan was sobbing, his heart hurting worse than anything physical.

He didn’t know how long he cried, didn’t know what day or even what year it was.

But once his tears ran dry, Dan made up his mind.

He was going to get his revenge.

He started meticulously stretching and working his muscles.

He was going to need at least a couple hours before he could build up the arm strength to army crawl out of the hospital…

 

***

 

Three days, some self-imposed physical therapy, and one elaborate escape act later, Dan was rolling down the street in a wheelchair and hailing a taxi to the nearest motel.

He had planning to do.


	2. A Weapon

Arin Hanson was unassuming. Everything about him at first glance screamed ‘soft’ – his curves, his long hair, his big brown eyes, his warm smile. He wore fatigues and sandals to formal business meetings. He often animatedly, and always wove in bits of wisdom and philosophy into every conversation. He came off like the world’s biggest hippie.

Dan knew better.

He’d been staking out the Hanson family from afar for years, getting glimpses of Arin’s father and elder brother painstakingly craft their own blades and then wield them expertly in battle. Though he hadn’t yet seen Arin in action, Dan didn’t dare underestimate him. He believed in the power of legacy. He believed in the Hanson family strength.

A few days after setting up shop in the motel, Dan jetted to London, where Arin owned a small art studio in the West End. It was a cover, a clever disguise for the true Hanson family business front.

“Let me cut to the chase,” Dan said, as he walked through the door one evening and approached the counter Arin was stood behind. “I know who you are, and I really need your services.”

Arin looked Dan up and down. Dan was clad in leather, not pulling any punches with his appearance. He had the look of a man on a mission. “Alright, buddy,” Arin said, laughing nervously. “Why you so serious? You need a serious art fix or something?” He scratched at the collar of his grey t-shirt, which had the logo of an anime silkscreened on the front. “Well, I got my commission prices listed right here,” he started to bend down to reach below the counter, “so lemme grab those for you real quick –”

“I don’t need your art, dude.”

Arin paused. He lifted his head. “What?”

Dan looked him in the eye. “I need steel.”

Arin rose slowly, his eyebrows furrowing. “What?” He feigned confusion, but Dan saw the slight wince, saw the flicker in his eyes that gave him away.

“You heard me,” Dan said, leaning his hands on the counter. “I need a Hanson blade.”

Arin’s expression darkened. Any trace of casual friendliness was wiped clean.

He stared at Dan.

Dan stared right back.

Arin spoke again, and this time, his voice was low and rough. “Now, what on earth would you need one of those for?”

Dan bent closer to him, got right in his face. “I have vermin to kill.”

Arin’s breath hitched, but he didn’t back away. “And why should I help you?”

“Because one of the vermin is a certain former colleague of your dad’s.”

“Jesus fucking Christ…” Arin’s eyes widened with recognition. “…You’re His Songbird.”

“I was. I don’t sing for Him anymore,” Dan murmured. “I go by Phoenix these days.”

“An apt title,” Arin said reverently.

“Thank you,” Dan replied. Without breaking eye contact, he moved his hand to grip Arin’s forearm.

“You know He wronged me,” Dan said slowly, seriously. “Will you help me make things right?”

Arin was breathing heavier. Dan saw so much emotion dancing in Arin’s eyes right then – pain, trepidation, anger. Dan saw a nerve twitching in the side of his face as he contemplated the proposition.

Finally, Arin spoke.

“You’ll need training,” Arin said. “I know you’re a master, but my dad never got to teach you his style…and it’ll take me a while to make the sword, anyways – I’m talking weeks, here – so I might as well give you some pointers…”

Dan smiled. “I’ve got nothing but time, man. I’m biding my fucking time.”

It was settled.

Arin would teach Dan to fight with Hanson steel.

The clock slowly ticked down to Dan’s ultimate act of revenge.


	3. A Warrior

_Years Ago_

“Don’t speak unless spoken to,” Brian said, as he drove them through the rolling green hills of Ireland at midday. “And don’t move unless you’re told to, either.”

“What,” Dan said, smirking, “so I’m supposed to just stand frozen like a mannequin half the time?”

“You joke, but he’ll rip your eye out if you so much as breathe wrong. It’s not a game.”

“I know, I know, ‘faster than a gun, matched by none.’ I get it. I’m not out to disrespect the guy. I’m excited to learn from him.”

Brian laughed. “That won’t last.”

They arrived at the small cottage that was home to Master Mark. Dan grabbed his things – merely a few extra shirts and slacks in a small pack – and Brian walked him to the door, then bade him goodbye.

“I hope you come back a true warrior,” Brian said, and kissed him sweetly.

He left.

***

Brian’s warnings were true. Master Mark, despite having a young, soft-looking face and brightly dyed hair, was a force to be reckoned with. He made little small talk as he put Dan through his grueling paces. And Dan, who thrived on being lively and sociable, found himself crumbling. He ached inside and out. The days and weeks blurred together. It felt like nothing of substance was happening. The training exercises wore on him. He didn’t seem to get any faster. Didn’t seem to gain strength.

What was this madness?

One day, Master Mark was perched cross-legged on Dan’s back as he had him do push-ups, and he suddenly spoke.

“Do you know why I do this?”

It took a second for Dan to process that he was being asked something. Then it hit him, and he faltered a bit.

“No, no, keep going,” Master Mark chided. “But answer.”

 _Why does he do this?_ Dan thought. _To be a fucking masochist, that’s clearly why he does this._

Dan grunted. “N-no, I don’t, sir,” he replied breathlessly.

“I’ll tell you,” Master Mark replied. “I had someone. Just as you do. And I was just as practiced in my Arts as I am now, but I never taught him for fear of dragging him into things he should not be a part of. But those things caught up with him, as these things are wont to do. And he was gone.”

Dan couldn’t help but shudder as it sunk in.

Dan had always been aware of the possibility of Brian getting killed. It was in the job description. Such was the nature of these underground lives they led. Yet there was a sense of security all the same in the knowledge that he and Brian were powerful people. They wouldn’t fail so easily.

Dan couldn’t even fathom the horror of being defenselessly destroyed.

“And I believe – I know – had I trained him? He’d have had a chance.”

Master Mark never displayed emotion, but Dan could hear his pain in that moment.

“That’s why I do this,” Master Mark said, voice rough. “I’ve gotten very good at it, because I have a purpose. You need to find yours.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dan ignored his aching arms and pressed on, down, up, down, up…

***

_Present Day_

“Jesus!” Arin yelled. “Looks like you barely needed my help at all.”

It was the third time Dan had pinned Arin to the wall by the hem of his shirt with a blade.

They’d been training in the upstairs space over the past few weeks since Dan’s arrival at the shop. Arin split his time between meticulously crafting the sword and guiding Dan through some of the Hanson family’s special fighting techniques. Dan took to them like water, seamlessly blended them into his own style, and by the end of the final week, he was besting Arin in every sparring match.

“You clearly have all the expertise,” Arin laughed breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Dan panted, nodding. “And a purpose.”

***

Arin presented him with the finished sword shortly after.

The hilt was black with a white diamond pattern, the sheathe bore the image of a beautiful red phoenix.

The blade was sharper than anything, and it showed Dan’s teary-eyed reflection crisp and clear.

“Go forth,” Arin said. “Be great.”

Dan tied the sword at his hip. He clasped Arin’s hands between his own, squeezed as he gave him one last long, parting look.

Then he left.

**Author's Note:**

> check me out on tumblr! brotherlode.tumblr.com


End file.
